


Who Killed Evelyn?

by KanraTheTeddyB3ar



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, gonna be pretty short, the first four chapters will center around the events in the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19287856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanraTheTeddyB3ar/pseuds/KanraTheTeddyB3ar
Summary: You have a lot of time to reflect when you're stuck in a mirror. Even longer for the rage to fester, the regret to gnaw, the innocence to die.He should not have pushed her into that mirror.





	1. How It All Began

She could remember checking her watch, just outside Markiplier Manor. Meeting the Colonel outside the door. Markiplier Manor had looked elegant, almost breathtaking from afar, but imposing and almost cold the closer she got.

Handing her invitation as Damien’s plus one to the butler, greeting Damien himself in what she assumed was the sitting room, taking a short walk around the house to familiarize herself. She had been rather apprehensive around the chef… Now she knew he’d never been a threat to her.

Markiplier himself had been… flamboyant, in a way. She’d only ever heard about him through Damien and newspapers, so trying to reconcile the two different images - one of a childhood friend and one of a fallen actor - had been daunting. He’d certainly seemed eerie, but Damien trusted him, so why shouldn’t she?

The party itself… when was the last time she had let loose that hard? Ah, yes, the week before exams in university. She’d woken in a coma at the hospital, Damien asleep in a chair beside her, and her mother asleep on what passed for a couch. There had been talk of evicting her from the university, and Damien’s calm rage that she’d dared go that hard. She’d signed herself out before exams started - that hadn’t sat well with anyone. But she’d have been damned before being evicted without doing her exams.

There was a lot she didn’t remember. Had she even drank that seltzer the butler handed her the morning after? Had she been hungover at all? She’d probably looked a fright, her hair loose and knotted, in only a nightgown and a pair of slippers she’d found in the bathroom. Damien had, of course, looked as put together as ever. Not a stain, not a seam, not a hair on his beautiful head out of place.

And then Mark’s body fell from above. The ensuing conversation had been chaotic, and she’d barely wrapped her head around it. She didn’t remember getting dressed. There was quite a bit she barely remembered.

Was that the house’s doing? Or whatever entity it was that possessed the house? Perhaps she’d never know.

Now, what had come after that?


	2. All Downhill From Here

Ah, yes, she and the detective - what was his name? - had gone to check Mark’s room after his body had disappeared. And she’d found those photos.

One was him with Damien and the Colonel. One was the three of them and Celine - they’d been married at that point, judging from the enormous ring on Celine’s finger. The next was just Mark and Damien. And the final, a picture of the Colonel alone - the glass frame was shattered, with small pieces falling as she’d lifted it up.

Then the Colonel appeared, and they’d talked. If by talked you mean he’d talked and she’d listened. She couldn’t remember if she’d said a word to him. Or if she’d spoken at all. Damien had been right when he said that the Colonel was an intense talker. She was certain he hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive.

Even now, her heart broke for his fate, how soft and broken he’d been upon seeing her body rise. She couldn’t even recall seeing him leave the manor. But this is getting off track.

The Colonel ran off to get his clubs, and she had chatted with Damien. Hearing him state that he believed her innocent… It had meant more than it most likely should have. Just that he believed in her had always meant the world and more. Quite the little fool she’d been.

Then, a gunshot, the pair of them rushing in. Finding the detective and the Colonel holding each other at gunpoint, all the confusion. And then Celine slamming the door open with a cry.

Abe. That was the detective’s name.


	3. The Only Words Spoken

She had met Celine once in passing, during graduation. Damien had tried to make her stay, but she got the impression that Damien’s twin wasn’t a big people person. Or, at least, not at that time. After that, she was only brought up in conversation when Damien was venting. He rarely vented.

This version of Celine was different. She had a much more commanding aura… though that was probably to be expected from the former lady of the house. She was quick to take charge, perhaps even more so upon learning how Mark died.

Perhaps the most entertaining part of that horrid day was when everyone went around testing just how much they could deviate from “murder.” She even giggled when her eyes landed Chef, obviously fighting his own amusement.

What had stung was when Celine had called her out for her silence. She rarely spoke around people she wasn’t familiar with, if Celine had bothered to try to get to know her at all, she’d have known that. Chef and the butler - Benjamin - joined in, and that hadn’t sat well with her. Abe’s call out had been more of a backhanded compliment. The Colonel passing and Damien’s grip on her hand had been what soothed her near bruising ego. 

She’d used her first paycheck as District Attorney to pay for the mortgage on her house and groceries, so what? Not everyone made the insane amount of money needed to buy the latest fashions!

She wondered what would have happened had Celine been allowed to go further. What would she have done, to get into contact with Mark? Or the house? Perhaps it’s best she never know. She was, in the end, grateful that Damien and Abe had burst in when they had. She hadn’t wanted to go back in after being drawn out by that vision of the groundskeeper.

George had seemed to know a lot more than he let on when they talked. If there had been time, she wondered just what might have been revealed. So many what ifs…

Then, the thunderclap, and seeing the supernatural lighting coming from the house… She remembered screaming as they raced towards the house, and upstairs to where Damien and Celine where. The only words she’d ever spoken in the entirety of that madness.

“Damien! Damien, please! DAMIEN!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally decided how long this was gonna be. Definitely the shortest of the fics I have here, but I feel like it's a good number.


	4. The Moment of Betrayal

Nothing could compare to the anguish in her heart when George said that Damien and Celine were dead, and to leave. She could scarce breath, the world swimming around her. She’d never gotten to tell him… Not that it mattered now. Not with what he did.

Then, Benjamin, talking of pain. What did he know of pain? What did he care for her pain?

Walking through the house, her vision turned an odd shade of green, orbs dancing through the air… And that heartbeat. That damned heartbeat, an echo of her own, present behind those distorted voices… That had been when she realized that whatever was in the house didn’t follow the rules of reality. Though nothing made sense, at the same time, it all did. All the pieces just falling into place.

But what did it all mean?

Abe’s office was a mess, but the one thing she got out of it was that he suspected the Colonel and Celine. And the Colonel’s reaction upon entering the office had been… heart wrenching. She’d followed after him, to try and dissuade him. The words wouldn’t exit her mouth, the Colonel was raging - even accused her of hiding Abe from him.

She didn’t like thinking of the ensuing conversation. Thinking of it meant remembering what happened afterward. It meant remembering the reason she was here.

She had fought the Colonel for his gun… and lost. Pain enveloping her midsection, blood on her hands, blackness not taking her until her body hit the tile below. And then, the black, the void. Mark’s body falling from nothingness, eyes black as the space around.

“It’s not fair, is it?”

No, it wasn’t fair. It’ll never be fair. She and Damien were the only innocents in this damned mess, and now they were both dead. She went to say as much when Damien and Celine appeared. Damien wrapped in blue and Celine in red, the only light breaking through the void.

She hadn’t hesitated when they offered a way out. Why hadn’t she hesitated? Why had she naively put her trust in the one man that had been her beacon of logic, her rock in this maelstrom of vengeance and ulterior motive?

Didn’t really matter now, not with what happened after. Getting up from the tile to see the Colonel, and watching has his mind snapped. It haunted her, watching it happen, like watching an accident in slow motion. Powerless to stop it, forced only to watch.

She had reached forward to take Damien’s cane but… it wasn’t her hand. It was Celine’s… then it was Damien’s. Her gaze was drawn to the mirror… And there was this force. She felt like she’d been hit by a freight train, she was sent tumbling into the mirror itself. And his face…

Sorrow… then anger, and he stormed off. Leaving her there, stuck in the mirror. Mark’s body had fallen behind her, and asked that same grated question.

No… It wasn’t fair. **_It isn’t fair._**


	5. Isn't It Lovely?

Time moved differently in the mirror. All she saw for the longest time was the foyer of the manor, the dying flowers and accumulating dust. Going through memory after memory, to find out what she could have done differently, if there was anything she could have done at all.

The betrayal cut deeper than any knife, seared more than that bullet that the Colonel fired off. _Damien_ said to trust Celine, to trust him. _Damien_ said to let them into her body. _Damien_ kicked her out of her body at the earliest convenience, tossed her out like yesterday’s garbage. She’d _trusted_ him… And he always did say she trusted too easily. Saw the good in others even if it wasn’t there at all. Perhaps especially if…

She paced a lot, staying near the mirror, her only source of light. Left alone with only her thoughts and the pervading darkness. Back and forth, back and forth, ‘til she wanted to scream from the pacing. Memory after memory after memory, over and over… She felt mad. She was going mad if she stayed.

She banged on the mirror until her hands bruised and bled, and nothing ever came of it. Her hands would heal in only a few seconds and she would start again. And yet, blood never ran down where her fists landed. Shards of glass rained down, but she didn’t know from where.

And that grating question, over and over and over. She would kick the body but she feared straying from the mirror’s light, and Mark’s damned body lay on the outskirts. So, she would kick the ground in its general direction. Didn’t do much to make it shut up. Never did.

She laid down among the broken glass at some point, and just stared at it. It didn’t say anything, just stared back. She wasn’t sure how much time passed during this impromptu staring competition. Didn’t really care, either. It had finally shut up. Everything was silent… Still...

_She could actually think._

She pondered on this dimension she found herself in. Just how had Mark discovered it? When did he realize that he wasn’t going mad, that this truly did exist? What dwelled out there in the void, beyond the light?

Answers eventually came. The body had disappeared long ago, and she had taken to counting the days, attempting to figure out just how many years had passed. She’d even started making small excursions to the other mirrors in the manor, a feat she took much pride in. Her favorite mirrors were the ones that faced a window, offering her a glimpse outside. The grounds were overrun with vegetation, without George’s hand to guide the growth.

The sound of static greeted her when she reached her mirror - and yes, she now saw the original mirror as her’s - and… Someone in a suit. She could see the grin on their face but not much, especially so since their back faced the mirror. A man?

“Hello…?” Her voice, _her own voice_ sounds so foreign, echoing around. Should it echo?

“Well, well, look who’s still here,” The voice is male. “Such luck I have. It has been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

“Do I… know you?” The question seems so silly. The voice - _that voice_ \- sounds so familiar, and yet not. As if from another life. Surely she must know them...

“Has the mirror truly not protected you from the hedge of forgetfulness?” Sounds like a simple enough question, but she can hear the condescending insult underneath.

_She knew this voice._

“Mark? How…?”

“And so much quicker on the draw!” Mark chirps, now coming into view fully. “So much quicker than Damien. Man, I didn’t think he’d ever get to it.”

_“How are you here?”_ She interrupts. This is insane, this is insane, **_this is insane…_**

“Doesn’t matter. _Why_ I’m here,” He sniffs, throwing on airs. _“That’s_ what matters. I’m writing a story, you see. And this place is the perfect setting. Or it would, but it’s missing a… key element as it were. A _much needed_ role.”

She scoffs - _scoffs_ \- at his words. What could this damn man want? If it wasn’t for him-!

“You must be wondering just what _grand role_ I have planned!” That sing-song grates on her nerves. “You, dear District Attorney… are my audience. You get the glorious opportunity to see my story in action! And who knows! Maybe you’ll get to graduate to damsel!”

Audience? _Audience? **AUDIENCE?!**_

Hell no! She’d been **forced** to sit back and watch the view out her mirror decay, and a very un-fucking-willing participant in the events of this psychopath’s little game! Used by Celine, betrayed by Damien… And now Mark wants her to just jump into a role in his delusion?

_**“Fuck no!”**_ She screams… and the void surrounding them shakes. Confusion fills her, but also pleasure at seeing the sudden glimpse of uncertainty on Mark’s face.

“This… is a rare opportunity, Evelyn,” He actually uses her name, and it sounds so strange. She’d almost forgotten it…

“I don’t care,” Her voice is definitive. “As the only innocent in this entire sordid affair, I should get a say in what and who I get to be. And it will **certainly** be nothing that you want! You, Damien, Celine - you all fucking used me! And I am putting my foot down!”

“Oh, please!” She bristles at the way he rolls his eyes. “You can say that all you want. Stay stuck in the past. I’m simply here to show you the future. And what a glorious future-”

She’d heard enough. She’d _had enough._ She didn’t even think as she bent down, grabbing the largest, sharpest glass shard at her feet. Barely felt her legs moving, arm flying up as a cry fell from her lips. She didn’t even take notice of the pain in her hand until the glass had penetrated Mark, with his form dissolving around her.

A deep, ragged cut swathed her palm diagonally. Somehow, she knew it would scar. She wanted it to scar. Wanted a reminder of the path she’d chosen, the defiance therein. She was going to get out of this mirror. And when she did… Mark, Damien, Celine… They all better watch out.

Her name was Evelyn. Former District Attorney. **And she was out for blood.**


	6. To Become The Mirror

She studied the mirror for but a moment before turning her attention to the void. The void grew infinitely as she stepped towards it. The body - Mark’s body - dropped once more, eyes turning into wells of black. But it didn’t ask her the same question as always.

“Finally made a decision,” It says, and she shivers even as her head nods. “Step into the void. You will find the answer to escaping.”

A grim smile touches her lips as she does just that. The black, the cold, the numbness, swallow her. There’s no way to tell which way is up and which is down. There is nothing but the void and the cold. Yet she knows where to go, with each step she takes, ever closer to her goal.

And there it is. Her old office, of all places. It doesn’t seem real at first, and then she realizes it isn’t. This office is decayed and abandoned, dust covering every inch. Much like the view outside her mirror. Pain rips through her when she spots the bouquet of flowers on her desk. Unlike the rest of the office, the bouquet is untouched, flowers still blooming, a note placed within.

“Destroy the note,” a voice, hauntingly familiar. “Cast off the shackles of your past. You could start anew, free of your burdens.”

She stares for a moment before whispering, “And if I don’t?”

“Then destroy the flowers,” The voice responds. “Destroy your past… Or your heart. You remain because you love the one who betrayed you. You love and you hate in equal measure. Can you truly destroy the one you love if you continue to cling to your heart? What has it gotten you besides misery and pain?”

“And if I do neither?”

The office is silent, and then, a laugh. It gets louder and louder, and the static returns. She wants to put her hands to her ears, but her arms are stuck limply at her sides. The glass shard - she’d forgotten she still carried it - leaves her grasp, floating before her, spinning, faster and faster. And then, it stops, now appearing as a wicked sharp dagger, reflecting naught but her eyes, wide as day.

“Then you shall be free, dear Evelyn,” A figure appears behind her desk, a silhouette of herself. “You are one of the rare few to escape of your own power. Go, with the blessing of the mirror.”

She opens her mouth, but is blown back, flying through the void and the cold. Her mirror is before her. She’s not flying anymore, she’s running, feet pounding against the black. Her clothing is tearing at the seams, but she doesn’t care as she dives into the mirror itself. The sound of glass shattering surrounds her, flows through her, and she _embodies_ it.

She crashes onto the tile floor of the foyer, the table that the vase of long dead flowers crashing down, the vase shattering. She stays like that for a few minutes, staring at the mirror, now wholly broken. Only the barest, smallest shards clung to the frame.

Then, she sucks in a breath.

It’s _wondrous_ , being able to breathe again. She laughs freely as she slowly rises, looking over her new garments. She’s wearing an all burgundy outfit, and the color reminds her of black dahlias. Her trousers now cling to her lower body like a second skin, with a belt that holsters her new weapon. She’s not even sure what her blouse is, the sleeves gone and all that covers her shoulders are two thin straps.

But now isn’t the time to think about fashion. She needs to familiarize herself with her new weapon and whatever else this “blessing of the mirror” business entails. But then?

Will any of them know what hit them?

* * *

 

 

On a nondescript street, as the day winds to an end, there is a rather nondescript building. Perhaps it’s a studio or some such, no one can truly say. No one really goes in or out, and the people that do are rarely, if ever seen again. _Markiplier TV_ is emblazoned at the top and on the sides of the building.

It is within this building one can find Darkiplier. He’d had another name, but he didn’t use it anymore. He was making his way to his office, the windows all covered by black curtains. Not because of any distaste for the sun, but to cover the reflections they cast. He couldn’t look out a window without seeing his reflection. And he couldn't see his reflection without seeing one of two things. One, that unsettled him, the other… Best not to think of.

He opens the black door, and looks about his office. Everything was in it’s - wait. There was one item out of place. Something that ripped straight to his core, reminded him of days when he went by that other name. A name none other than Wil called him.

A bouquet of black dahlias.

He’s not sure when he reached his desk, but he does remember picking up the note lying on top of the flowers.

_Damien,_

_I’m out. Watch your reflection._

_With love,_

_Your little monster_

...

...

...

...

...  **Shit.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the conclusion! I may write a sequel, I might not! Sound off if you want one.
> 
> Fanart, animatics, podfics, all welcome, just link it to me on my tumblr and give me credit! My tumblr is greeniethefrigid.tumblr.com 
> 
> The insert for dahlias is actually an easter egg, if you haven't caught it already! The headcanon that the DA's fave flower is dahlias belongs to muraae on tumblr.


End file.
